Sweet Little Lies
by Thatsaporkpie
Summary: Sookie's husband Eric died in a car crash two weeks ago. So why is he standing in Merlotte's, alive and well? Convinced it is her husband returning to her, Sookie is determined to resume their lives together. But is he really her husband? What happens when she discovers several family secrets her husband had kept hidden from her? All-Human. M rating soon.


_**Hey there,**_

_**I own nothing to do with True Blood or SVM. I am just a huge fan. I have had this idea for a while now, but wasn't sure how to write and whether people would be interested. Feel free to let me know if it is something you would like for me to continue. **_

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_**Sweet Little Lies**_

**Sookie P.O.V:**

I used to sleep all day- but now I have forced myself into getting up and getting to my job.

I feel like I'm always dragging my feet, forcing on motivation just to get around. Half the time, I just don't want to do anything. I just want to sit at home all day, watching the television to occupy my mind. But there are still things I need to do; Mainly work obligations. I work at Merlotte's, serving cocktails and onions rings and burgers and fries. Everybody seems to stare at me; They must all know what has happened, which doesn't surprise me. Bon Temps is a small town. Everybody gossips. It's hard to have secrets.

It's funny being at work and seeing everybody else so happy, when half the time I feel like I'm bursting right at the seams. But just because my husband is gone, it doesn't mean the world is on standby, does it?

The grief really is my own.

My husband, Eric Northman, died in a car crash two weeks ago. He was killed on impact.

I never really believed he was actually gone, until we laid him to rest. Seeing his white coffin shining in the sun just made it seem less surreal. He is gone, and he won't ever be coming back. Life can be so unfair.

He was the most wonderful man I have ever met. The most funniest and charismatic. Also, he was the most loving and affectionate person on the planet. Every time I got home from work, with aching legs, he would sit me down on the couch and give me a foot massage. I never had to ask him to do anything- it was as if he could read my mind. He cleaned my car for me, without me having to ask. When he could see I was stressed, he would sit me down and let me talk it through with him. He was always there to listen, without judgment.

He was not only my husband. But he was my best friend. My soul mate. My everything. I know I will never meet a man like him again. He was a rare one.

And now, he's gone. Taken away from the world. Who am I supposed to turn to now?

Other people try to understand, as much as they are able to. My best friend from high school, Tara Thornton, tells me everything will get better. The sun will shine again. And, yep, it is shining outside, but yet I am still overcome with grief. My boss, Sam, says it is still only early days. He says it is always hard losing someone, but soon things will look up.

I am looking up, but all I see is ceilings.

At least I have work to distract me. Time goes faster that way, and I don't feel as selfish and helpless just sitting at home all day. At least I'm actually doing something productive, despite my heart not being completely in it.

There is a particular way that customers look at me, that really ticks me off, though. I know what they're thinking. They know about the loss of my husband. They pity me. It's hard to accept a loss when it is constantly thrown in your face like acid brutally to scar you all over again.

It's hot outside, but in work, we have the air conditioner on so it isn't half as bad. It's cool inside, and yet I'm still sweating. My white shirt sticks to me like a second skin and I feel beads of sweat gathering around the nape of my neck. I go around tables with my little notepad and pencil permanently attached to me, writing down orders. Sometimes I space out, all thanks to what I know what people are thinking, in the back of their minds. It is just so obvious to me. The woman I'm currently serving is thinking how hard it must be for me, I know it just by seeing the look on her face, about losing my husband in such early days of our marriage. Eric and I were married for two years. Is that still early days? It is confusing sometimes, trying to ignore the pity on people's faces while trying to collect their orders at the same time. I have to ask the lady to repeat herself. She doesn't seem to mind though- she just thinks I'm waist-high in grief for anything to go into my brain.

Once my brain starts working into writing down her order, I notice her fleeting glance at my left hand. I peer down at it myself, feeling flushed with heat. Yes, I am still wearing my wedding ring. Taking it off isn't something I feel ready to do yet. I plant a nice smile on my face for the lady- something I am always doing, and then, off I go. Just as I'm reaching the side of the kitchen, I bump shoulders into someone who is passing in. My pencil and notepad goes flying in the air, and then it lands on the floor. The person kneels down to retrieve my pencil for me, while I do the same to get my notepad.

"Gosh, sorry," I say, forcing down an embarrassed laugh. "I should have watched where I was going!"

I lift my head, about to accept the pencil from the person, then find myself face to face with my husband. My stomach drops as our eyes meet. I can hardly believe my eyes. Is he actually my husband? Well, no, he couldn't be. My husband is dead, after all. But he looks exactly the spitting image of him. Everything- his slicked back hair, his light blue eyes that peer intently into mine, the half-twisted, kind smile- everything is similar to how my husband looked. But how is that possible? My husband never had siblings, or any twins that I was aware of, no less.

I had spent countless days wishing he would come back to me. And, here he is. _Here! Now!_

I'm speechless.

"Are you alright?" he asks hesitantly. God, even his voice is exactly the same as my husbands. It has to be him!

The only noticeable difference is that he is wearing all black. A tight black, button-up shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. He is wearing tight black jeans. My husband never wore black. He was always fond of bright colors. He used to always believe that black was a morbid color.

I want to laugh at the weirdness of the situation. And, I accidentally do. It comes out of my mouth, without my control. I can barely refrain from throwing my arms around him, holding him tight, and crying. But it is obvious he hasn't seen me before in his entire life, which can't possibly be true. He knows me, more than others do, because he's my husband.

"It's me," I manage breathlessly. "It's Sookie. You've come back to me!"

**Eric P.O.V:**

This woman is looking at me as if I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It's a completely humbling experience. I try to scan through my memories of this radiantly happy, blonde-haired woman. She's looking as if she knows me, but I can't remember her at all. Surely, she wouldn't have been a woman I would have forgotten easily? She's very beautiful, particularly in the way she is staring at me, a bit like I'm her own personal deity. Maybe I had slept with her, at some time or another? Maybe we had hooked-up?

I was like most men my age. Once in a blue moon I went out after work, tried my luck on a pretty woman, and then one thing would lead to another and we would end up at her place, fooling around. But I was sure, if this woman had been another one of my sexual conquests, that I would have remembered her. She looked like a face you wouldn't dare to forget in a hurry.

She's staring at me like she is trying to memorize my face. It is almost as if she is terrified to blink. If she does, I might just disappear.

"It's me," she breathes in a very evocative way that tells me she's maybe mistaking me for someone else. "It's Sookie. You've come back to me!"

My stomach lurches. Oh, well, fuck. This is obviously a big misunderstanding, but I can't find my voice to tell her so. It would crush her spirits completely, and she appears so happy to see me. It would be like wounding an innocent child. I find myself reluctant to do that to her, even though I don't understand what she is saying to me.

"I knew you would someday," she says, her voice swelling with emotion. "I thought maybe I was just kidding myself, but... here you are. You came surprisingly quickly. It's only been two weeks!"

I blink at her. _Two weeks? Two weeks since what?_

"When I'm done with my shift, we'll go home. I'll take you home, where everything will be good and as right as rain again."

I'm about to tell her I already have a home, and it sure isn't a home with her in it. But, again, I don't want to break her. She's glowing at me, like I'm everything to her, even though I don't look my best. I haven't shaved in weeks, and I just threw on any old clothes I found. It doesn't seem to matter to her. She looks extremely pleased to see me. So, although wrong of me on so many levels, I take advantage.

**Sookie P.O.V:**

There is a bounce in my step, and I want to cry at the top of my lungs in delight. I want to rejoice, do a little dancing jig, have him hold me tight and never let me go.

Oh, boy, Eric's here! He has returned to me! I knew he would! I always held faith that he would!

To my immense relief, he doesn't protest on my offer to take him back to our house. Of course, he wouldn't, though! He's my husband! He's been brought back to life!

I get so excited I keep messing things up. I keep writing orders down incorrectly, all because I know he is sitting in one of the booths, waiting to come back home with me. He's here!

I look at him past my shoulder to find he is already staring at me. I grin at him brightly, and he smiles back shyly. Just like that, all those memories hit me again: Eric and my wedding day, two years ago. It was about the happiest day of my life. Afterwards, Eric carrying me into our hotel room, as part of that kooky little tradition people believed in of newlyweds. Eric laughing while undoing the buttons on his tuxedo vest with shaky hands. Eric getting down on his knees to help me out of my white heels, only to take me completely by surprise in sucking my toes and smooching my feet. Eric patiently quizzing me on my Swedish, and helping me pronounce certain words. The last time I saw him, before his accident, he was wearing his flannel pyjamas while flipping pancakes over in the pan for breakfast with a spatula.

And, now... here he is! A little tired and in need of a shave, but still that very same man I fell in love with. Gosh, I can't believe my luck!

I feel the sudden urge to gush about it to someone.

I find Tara behind the bar, serving alcoholic drinks. I rush straight over to her. "He's here, Tara," I whisper in her ear, my voice shaking. "He's returned, like I knew he would!"

She peers at me behind her shoulder in confusion. "Who's here, Sook? Dang, look at you! I haven't seen you this happy since your wedding day!"

"Look over there," I tell her desperately, tilting my chin over into his direction. I watch her face very carefully, as she does. Her dark eyes widen and she looks as if she's seen a ghost. I'm expecting that reaction from her, though. "See, he has returned, Tara. My husband. He's back! Now everything is fine again!"

"Shit. He looks exactly like him!"

"Well, that's because it_ is_ him, Tara," I tell her confidently. "He's came back for me."

"Holy shit." Even though my eyes are on him, I can feel Tara staring at me. "Sook, how the fuck can that be possible? Eric's passed away. We had his funeral last week. How is it that he is sitting over there, looking all alive and shit?"

"Another mysterious wonder of the world, Tara. I _know_ it's him."

"You sure it isn't just somebody who looks exactly like him?"

"I am positive." I try to keep my voice light, but a bit of frustration seeps through. "It is him, Tara. I know it's him. Because he looks at me, exactly the way my Eric did. He's Eric. He looks like him. His face, his... body. His hands, and his legs. He's Eric."

"Sookie, you got the coroners report. He's dead. The crash killed him straight away."

"Well, clearly he isn't, if he is sitting over there. He even sounds like my Eric. I'm taking him home."

"What? Taking him home? Sook, despite him looking completely like your man... you have to know your real man is dead. Do you really think it's safe taking some stranger home?"

"He isn't a stranger, Tara," I insist. "He's my_ husband_!"

"Sookie, this is fucking crazy." And she's right. I know it _is_ crazy.

There is no plausible answer for how this has happened, no rhyme or reason. It just is. But what does all that really matter? My husband has returned to me. That's all that matters. I no longer have to feel sad for him, because he isn't dead. He's alive, sitting in a booth. And soon, I'll be taking him home once my shift finishes in half an hour, and we can... be together again. It's all that I want. Just to be a happy married couple again. No more pain, or grief.

Just love.

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**So, what did you think? Would this be something you would be interested in more of? Eric isn't really her husband being reincarnated, but Sookie's grief is making her believe strange things. There will be deception on Eric's part as he tries to pretend he is, just to keep her happy. I'm not sure if it will be the type of story anyone is interested in, but I would love to know? Thank you! **


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